


The Rocky Mountain Horror Show

by airbendandsnap



Category: Rocky Horror Picture Show, South Park
Genre: Bottom Kyle Broflovski, Boys in drag, First Time, M/M, Male Slash, Multi, Rocky Horror, Slash, South Park Style - Freeform, Top Stan Marsh, style
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-28 20:27:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15057140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airbendandsnap/pseuds/airbendandsnap
Summary: By junior year, Stan and Kyle have grown apart. Stan's into football and chasing girls, and Kyle's wearing makeup and hanging out with Craig Tucker. In a last-ditch effort to save their friendship, Stan joins Kyle in the cast of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. Along the way, he discovers that he and Kyle aren't so different after all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the first four thousand words of this a few years ago and the rest yesterday, so, I figured I might as well publish it all at once. 
> 
> There are some small spoilers for the Rocky Horror Picture Show, but don’t worry if you haven’t seen it! The story focuses on the South Park characters. 
> 
> Enjoy, fwend! <3

The fluorescent lights that adorned every classroom ceiling in Park County High School likely hadn’t been replaced in several years, and Stan could swear he felt each slight flicker reflected in the hallow spaces behind his eyes. 

He pressed his knuckles into his forehead, elbows propped on the desk in front of him. Stupid idea, drinking the night before school started, but it was how he’d spent every night of winter break, and he didn’t see why that should stop just because he now had to wake up at six in the morning. 

He didn’t lift his head from his hands as he heard Clyde and Token take the seats to his left. 

“Marsh is dead,” Clyde said, not bothering to lower his voice.

“Leave him alone,” Token muttered. “Might be hung over.”

“He better get his shit together when practice starts.” 

Stan would have loved to give Clyde a smart retort, but he didn’t have the energy. He rubbed his face with one hand and blearily regarded the small classroom. 

Students filed in, the room growing more cacophonous with each passing second. Park High was small, and Stan recognized his fellow juniors, as well as most of the seniors and sophomores. Butters was in the front row, chatting animatedly to a spazzy-looking girl who was probably a freshman. There was a distinct air of excitement; people were pleased to be back among the social hubbub that came along with school.

Stan thought back to the last time he had been excited about the first day of school. Probably fourth grade, before everything turned to shit. He didn’t think he’d ever been excited about returning after winter break. Then again, he’d always made sure to hang out with his friends even when school wasn't in session.

The final bell rang, and the chatter went down a few decibels. The short blonde teacher stood up from her desk and walked to the middle of the classroom, where “Mrs. Holland” was written on the marker board behind her. 

“Welcome to homeroom. I’m going to take a quick roll call before we go over the school rules.”

Someone toward the front groaned. 

Mrs. Holland pushed her glasses up on her nose. “I know you’ve been over the rules before, but since you’ve been off for two weeks, it’s my job to give you a brief refresher.” She cleared her throat and looked down at the role sheet in front of her, beginning to rattle off the names of the students.

Stan closed his eyes again. Maybe he could take a covert nap back here while they were going over the rules. That didn’t sound bad at all…

His head was already starting to clear of conscious thought when he heard Mrs. Holland’s high-pitched voice call, “Kyle Broflovski?”

Stan’s eyes snapped open and swept the room, but there was no sign of Kyle’s bright curly head.

Mrs. Holland peered around. Seeing no hand, she made a mark on her paper, and moved on to “Clyde Donovan,” who raised his hand and grunted. 

Stan frowned. He hadn’t had any classes with Kyle last semester. Maybe Kyle was missing school because he was ill? Stan wouldn’t know; he hadn’t spoken to Kyle in several months.

Back in elementary school, they had been so similar that they would often get called by each others’ names, getting mixed up by teachers and other kids. But as time went on, that changed. Stan continued with football, playing as quarterback for every team from eighth grade onward. Kyle had made the team in seventh grade with Stan, but decided it wasn’t really his thing, and spent his time after school performing in spelling bees, chess club, and robotics competitions. As a result, Stan ended up spending more time at school with the popular jocks, and Kyle was grouped in with the scholars and nerds. This didn’t matter much to either of them at first. They continued to take the bus together, had sleepovers, and generally carried on being super best friends, no matter how they were perceived by the other kids trying to make sense of social cliques. 

As they began high school, it got more difficult. Football practice became more demanding, and Kyle focused more heavily on his schoolwork. Summers were better, when they could spend all day playing video games and eating cheesy poofs with Kenny and Cartman, but they couldn’t ignore the fact that they no longer had much in common.

For one, Stan’s dating life started taking up a good deal of his time. After giving it another go with Wendy in junior high and failing hilariously, Stan dated many girls. He didn’t like the way people gossiped about him, giving him the reputation of a typical jock douche, so he preferred hooking up with girls he met at away games. This probably didn’t make him any less of a skeezbag, but at least it was private.

He learned long ago that Kyle didn’t like hearing about these exploits. When Kenny and Cartman would pester Stan for details, Kyle would go red and quiet for a long time. Stan wondered if he was prude, or just embarrassed because of his own lack of experience, or even jealous. Either way, he began to keep quiet about his misadventures no matter who was listening in case it got back to Kyle.

But none of that had been the cause of their falling out. Early last summer, one thundery evening, Kyle showed up at Stan’s door without warning. This wasn’t unheard of, but at the moment Stan was getting ready to head out to Denver with Token where they were going out with some girls they met at a game. After seeing the wan determination in Kyle’s face, Stan invited him in, texting Token to say that he would not be joining him. 

After following Stan upstairs, Kyle plunked down onto Stan’s bed, leaving Stan standing awkwardly by the door. 

“I have something to tell you,” Kyle said breathily, pushing his wet curls off his forehead. His eyes were slightly crazed.

“You okay, dude?” Stan said gently. Kyle was prone to melodramatics, but it always worked out best if Stan played along. 

“I’m okay. But what I’m about to tell you may be hard for you to come to terms with.” Kyle looked down and ran his hands across the thighs of his pants, then looked back at Stan.

“You can tell me anything, dude,” Stan said, taking a step closer to the bed.

“Well.” Kyle looked skeptical. “Okay. Has anything about me ever struck you as…different? Or odd?”

Stan paused. There were a great number of Kyle’s qualities that Stan found odd, but that was true of every single person in South Park. “Not particularly.”

“Well.” Kyle sighed. “I’ve already told my family. But you’re the first person…anyway. I’m. Gay.”

He was giving Stan a look of such blazing defiance that it took him a moment to process this. “Oh!” Stan said, surprised at the way his own voice sounded, shocked and high-pitched. “Oh. Well. That’s—there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Kyle was giving him an indecipherable look. After a few long seconds, he said, “I wasn’t sure what would be worse. You saying you had known all along, or complete surprise.”

Stan was at a loss. All he knew was that he wanted to say whatever would make Kyle feel better about the whole situation, but he didn’t have a clue what that would be.

“I mean, I am surprised.” He sat down next to Kyle on the bed. “But I’m glad you decided to tell me. I mean, I’m happy you trust me, and stuff.”

Kyle laughed. Stan smiled. Miraculously, he had said something right. 

“Is this why you would get all quiet when I talked about girls?” he asked.

Kyle was silent for long enough that Stan looked over at him, worried he had said something wrong. Kyle looked back at him, his eyes much softer than they’d been before. 

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I hated those talks. I was glad when you stopped.”

Stan smiled sadly. “I never meant to make you feel bad.” When Kyle didn’t say anything, still staring at him, Stan added, “I know South Park is a kind of a backwards shithole, but you’re going to have—adventures—someday, too. I’m sure there are tons of guys out there who would be happy to meet you.”

Kyle sighed, rolling his eyes and half-smiling the way he did when he thought Stan was being idiotic. “Right.” 

Stan was pretty sure he hadn’t said the exact right thing, but Kyle had stopped looking at him all misty-eyed like a hurt kitten, so it was a good start. 

“I brought the new Madden,” said Kyle, rummaging through the lime green backpack he had dropped on Stan’s floor.

“Kickass,” said Stan, relief flooding through him. Nothing had changed.

“Stan Marsh,” called Mrs. Holland, snapping him back to the harsh fluorescent present. 

“Here,” he called, thrusting his hand into the air, and she carried on with the roll call. 

He propped his elbow on the desk and rested his chin in his palm. After a short time, roll was finished, and they were instructed to open their planners to the beginning section, where the school rules were outlined. As they took turns reading, Stan couldn’t concentrate on the text, thinking instead of summer. Because things _had_ changed. At first, he hadn’t noticed. He and Kyle still played video games online together at times, but hung out in person less frequently. Stan had continued to see one of the girls in Denver, Alexis, and spent almost every weekend in June and part of July going to visit her, before he decided he couldn’t afford it and broke things off. True to his word, he never mentioned any of this to Kyle, stating that he was simply ‘busy.’ 

One mid-July night, shortly after Stan stopped returning Alexis’s calls, he went to the movies with some guys from the football team, including Token, Clyde, and Cartman. On the car ride to the theater, one of the seniors-to-be, Jack Bernstein, had gotten them all notoriously ripped on some potent strain of sativa. Stan didn’t care about different breeds of marijuana—they all seemed to get him high the same way. Still, he pretended to be impressed, and nodded along when Token described the cerebral high he was experiencing.

The other guys slapped twenties into Stan and Clyde’s palms, offering to save seats while they bought concessions. Stan thought it was rather unfair that he had to carry a bunch of drinks and popcorn—he was the quarterback, after all, not some geeky freshman—but he was too stoned to argue. 

As he glanced around blearily, Stan caught a flash of bright red hair toward the back of the line. He did a double-take. He knew that particular shade quite well. Sure enough, Kyle was standing in line next to Craig Tucker, who was muttering something with a half smile on his face. Kyle was laughing, but not the wide-mouthed cackle he usually dissolved into at Stan’s jokes. It was like he was trying to restrain himself for Craig’s benefit. Craig was wearing his usual skin-tight jeans and v-neck shirt, his longish hair razor-cut into some bizarre style that wouldn’t have looked out of place on stage at a glam rock concert, but absolutely did at the South Park movies.

Clyde followed Stan’s line of sight. “Ugh, Craig. I can’t believe I used to be friends with that guy. He’s so weird and gay now.”

Stan turned and stared at Clyde, slack-jawed. 

Clyde shrugged. “I’m probably preaching to the choir here. You used to be friends with Broflovski.”

Stan wanted to explain to Clyde that they were still friends, but all he managed was a shake of his head. He turned to the counter and ordered his concessions, aware he was mumbling his words and repeating himself. The girl at the counter looked annoyed. He recognized her as a being in the grade below him at school. Let her be annoyed, he thought.. No matter how obnoxious people found the guys on the football team, they tended to keep their mouths shut. It was the reward of popularity, one Kyle had forgone, apparently, to rub shoulders with the likes of Craig.

By the time Stan and Clyde had gathered enough napkins and straws for everyone and headed back towards the theaters with their arms full, Kyle and Craig were nowhere to be found. 

Maybe Clyde was right. Maybe he and Kyle were no longer friends.

Certainly, everything that had happened since then seemed to point to this conclusion. When junior year started, Kyle was barely recognizable. He had started dressing in tighter, edgier clothes and becoming more social. Stan rarely ever saw him in the halls alone; he was usually deep in conversation with one of the art club members, or the theater kids. Once, Stan even saw him trading notes with the goth kid who had a red streak in his bangs. Still, Stan always made a point to say hi to him.

Each time, Kyle would look up from whoever he was speaking to, say “Hey, dude!” cheerfully, and then return to his conversation. Stan decided he was going to stop saying hi to Kyle first, just to see if he would take the initiative. They had not spoken since.

Stan had enough going on in his own life that he didn’t dwell on it, but when he passed Kyle in the halls without getting so much as a glance, his heart twinged. The more he allowed himself to think about it, he realized he was angry as well. 

Kyle had told him his biggest secret—in fact, he had considered Stan so important that he had been the first person besides family that Kyle came out to. Far from worrying that Stan would ostracize him, Kyle had taken it upon himself to be the ostracizer. Stan racked his brain, trying to figure out what he had done wrong, but he could think of nothing, and it made him angrier still. 

During these times, Stan wished he could reach out to Kenny, but about a month before school started—around the time Stan saw Kyle at the movies—Kenny announced that he was dropping out and touring as a roadie for the band Smokin’ Mirrors, for which his brother Kevin played the drums. Stan hadn't been surprised to hear he’d dropped out, but was sad to see him go. Suddenly, his core group of friends had dissipated. 

They were about fifteen minutes into reading the school rules, and mercifully Stan had not been called on to read, since he had no idea where they were. Henrietta Biggle was reading the section about the dress code in a derisive tone when she was interrupted by the door to the classroom swinging open. 

Kyle stepped inside. His hair was still as huge as ever, but longer, and without its usual unruliness—every curl seemed to be set into perfect place with styling gel. Stan was reminded forcibly of Kyle’s brief Jersey phase in the fourth grade. He was wearing white skinny jeans and some sort of long, dress-like black shirt. Stan was taken aback to see that under his curtain of hair he was wearing some sort of Alice Cooper-like application of black eyeliner, making his eyes look as dead and vacant as Stan’s currently felt. 

At once the class begin whispering amongst themselves. Though Kyle wasn’t popular, he was noticeable, and though his style had been growing less nerdy over the course of the semester, he had never looked quite so— _flamboyant_.

“Ew,” Clyde whispered.

“Dude,” Token admonished Clyde, though he looked a bit alarmed as well.

Butters was texting someone furiously under the table. Stan wondered if he was telling Cartman, his unlikely best friend, about Kyle’s appearance. Somehow, the thought was infuriating.

Mrs. Holland stared at Kyle for several seconds before gaining her composure. “Your name, sir?” Her cheeks colored a bit, as if the ‘sir’ might have been presumptuous. 

“Kyle Broflovski.”

“Do you have a good reason for being late and disrupting homeroom?” she asked, making a check mark on her paper.

“Nope,” Kyle said, sliding into the seat next to Butters.

“Alright, then. You’ll be on time tomorrow, or there will be consequences. Henrietta, please continue.”

It was the longest thirty-five minutes Stan had ever sat through. When his turn came to read, he stumbled through the lines on the page, causing a few freshman to giggle maliciously.

He paid them no attention. How could he have allowed this to happen? Kyle was hanging out with Craig so much that he had practically become his clone. Would this have happened if Stan had made more of an effort? If he hadn’t wasted all that time on going to Denver when his best friend had needed him most—that girl was barely a blip on his radar…

When the bell finally rang, Stan jumped out of his seat and headed toward the front of the room, not looking back at Token and Clyde. Kyle, Butters, and the spazzy girl were heading out the door. Stan caught up to Kyle as he walked out into the hall. 

“Hey, dude,” he said in what he hoped was a casual voice. Kyle turned to him, still walking. Stan fell into step beside him. 

“Hey,” Kyle said.

“How was, uh, Hanukkah?”

Kyle gave him an appraising look, smirking in a vaguely amused way. “Did Randy get drunk at the Christmas Eve party again? Or is he still doing the Twelve Steps?”

Stan frowned. “The Twelve Steps were last year. For, like, a week.” 

Kyle continued to smirk at him in that infuriating way. “What about you?”

“What about—what?” Stan paused. “Drinking?”

Kyle raised his eyebrows.

“I’m not a Quaker, clearly. Didn’t see you at any parties over break. Or the Smokin’ Mirrors show.”

Kyle smiled secretively. “I was very busy. Anyway, this is my next class.” He pointed to an open door on their left and waved at Stan vaguely before walking through it. 

Stan gritted his teeth, extremely unsatisfied. _Very busy_? Now that Stan thought about it, Craig hadn’t been at those parties either. They were almost definitely boning. Of course Craig would want his boyfriend to become an exact replica of him. The old Kyle would never have played along with it. Stan’s face was actually hot with impotent anger when he got to his next class.

His first period class was especially designed for football players to catch up on homework so that their afternoons would be free for practices. Most of them just used it as a time to shoot the shit and slack off, and their teacher, Mr. Crintz, never told them otherwise. Sometimes he joined in the bullshitting. Stan knew that high school football players were only treated this way in backwards small towns that had nothing else going for them, and at times it pissed him off, but mostly he appreciated the special treatment. Right now was not one of those times, and he hated how Mr. Crintz was looking at him, as though Stan was his returned prodigal son. 

“Good Christmas, Marshy?” Mr. Crintz said genially. 

“Yup,” Stan replied, throwing his messenger bag on the ground by a desk that was grouped with those of Cartman, Token, and Clyde.

“You look like shit, brah,” Cartman said casually.

“Yeah, well.”

“Dude,” Clyde said, his deadpan voice like a gnat in Stan’s ear. “What the fuck is up with your fashionista friend Broflofski?”

“Yeah… is he trying to look like Craig, or something?” Token pulled a bottle of some fancy protein drink out of his messenger bag and started shaking it up.

“I don’t know.”

“Bullshit, you ran up to talk to him!” Clyde snorted.

Cartman paused, holding a cheesy poof up to his mouth. “What do you mean Kyle looks like Craig?”

“He was wearing makeup and some type of dress for a shirt,” said Token. 

“Oh my god, dude.” Cartman’s face lit up. He shoved a fistful of Cheesy Poofs into his mouth.

“What, your little friend Butters didn’t text you all about it?” Stan snapped.

“Butters? What the fuck? He’s not my friend.”

“Whatever,” Stan muttered. If he had to pick a quote to define their junior year at South Park High School, ‘he’s not my friend’ would fit perfectly, he thought bitterly.

The rest of the day passed much too slowly. Stan occupied himself by doodling in the margins of his planner, but his mind kept wandering to Kyle and the way he dodged Stan after homeroom.

When the final bell rang, Stan was so ready to drop into his bed that he wanted to cheer. Instead, he speed-walked to the student parking lot, evading the other juniors and seniors who tried to stop and catch up with him. 

He unlocked the door of his ancient Honda Civic, slid into the driver’s seat, and leaned back into the headrest, closing his eyes for just a moment. His mom hated his car because it had no airbags, and while he acquiesced that it was a piece of shit, it was the first major purchase he had made with his own money, and therefore his pride and joy. The fact that ‘his own money’ was left to him when his grandfather died only made it that much more sentimental. 

When he opened his eyes, he noticed Craig idling in his old black convertible Corvette outside of the main archway of the school. The longest strands of his hair now reached his nipples, with shorter layers around his face. Craig was that weird mix between pretty and handsome that made the look almost work, but not quite. Stan watched him for several minutes, wondering who he was waiting for. 

After what felt like several long minutes, Kyle walked out of the archway carrying three large AP textbooks. He made a beeline for the Corvette, and opened the passenger side door, setting his books down at his feet.

Stan’s chest pinched with disappointment. So this is what happened when you were a gay boy in a small town. You ended up with the bitchiest prima donna by default. Poor Kyle—or, perhaps, poor Craig. Stan knew Kyle didn’t have the patience for diva behavior, and the whole thing would come to a head when Kyle lost his temper.

Stan didn’t notice that Bebe Stevens, Kevin Stoley, and Butters were walking out of the archway until they walked up to Craig’s convertible. Bebe and Kevin climbed into the backseat. Butters exchanged a few words with Craig and Kyle, laughing heartily, then headed towards the other side of the street where one of his parents was likely waiting.

Craig sped away, whisking Kyle and the others out of Stan’s line of sight. Stan felt like a small hole had opened in his chest. Since when was Kyle friends with Kevin or Bebe? For that matter, since when was Craig? Perhaps they were all just friends, Kyle and Craig included.

Right, Stan thought bitterly.

He began the drive home, consumed with his thoughts. When he parked in front of his house, he could barely remember the drive, having operated on muscle memory alone. 

His parents were both still at work, Shelly away at Arizona State. Stan kicked his shoes off as soon as he got into the door and padded upstairs. He grabbed his laptop off the desk and got in bed, propped up against the pillows. It had been a while since he checked his Facebook account, and a tiny icon told him that he had ‘100+’ notifications. Ignoring this, Stan typed Kyle’s name into the search bar. 

Stan couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked at Kyle’s page, but he didn’t recognize any of the photos. Kyle’s profile pic was really well framed, Stan thought. It kind of reminded him of an actor’s headshot, the kind on IMDB pages, but instead of smiling at the camera Kyle was looking at something off in the distance, pouting with his hand under his chin. His eyes looked particularly green, as if he’d used some kind of photo editing app. 

Stan started clicking. Surprisingly, there weren’t any pictures of Kyle in makeup. Maybe it was just something he was just trying out for the first time, and wouldn’t last. Good, thought Stan viciously, and then he felt bad. Kyle actually didn’t look bad in makeup, however weird it was. And he definitely didn’t look bad in these photos, though they were alarmingly narcissistic. Stan considered that his own photos were narcissistic as well—though he rejected Facebook, Stan had come to the conclusion that girls wouldn’t have sex with a guy who didn’t have an Instagram. They found it suspicious. He rotated nine artsy photos, a few of which showed off his defined arms and guitar playing. He didn’t take it seriously; it was just a means to an end. 

Kyle’s could have been a means to an end, too, actually. There was one of him leaning against a railing by Stark’s Pond, looking elegantly disaffected. He looked like a rock star—well, not exactly. He looked like a model. 

Stan paused, staring at the picture. In real life, Kyle was a bit awkward and geeky looking. So why did he look so—well— _cool_ in these pictures?

Stan clicked again, and there was a picture of Kyle laughing and looking to the side, his face in profile. Again, this wasn’t the manic half-moon smile Stan was accustomed to, but something knowing, inviting. It looked like an ad for—cologne, or something, Stan didn’t really know. But he realized that Kyle could actually become a model if he wanted to. Well, maybe not—he was five-nine, according to Kyle himself, which Stan knew was a stretch.

For the first time since he started perusing Kyle’s pictures, Stan looked to the left, where the caption bar was. “Photo by Craig Tucker,” Kyle had written. 

Stan scowled and clicked backwards through the photos he had seen. “Photo by Craig Tucker” captioned everything that wasn’t a selfie. 

Fucking figures. Kyle wasn’t a model, he was just Craig’s muse. Stan imagined Craig cooing at Kyle from behind the camera, trying to evoke that seductive spark in his eyes. Stan slammed his laptop shut and put it on the desk before rolling over. As the hangover left his body, sleep set into his bones, and his final conscious thought was praying to God that he wouldn’t dream about Kyle and Craig.


	2. Chapter 2

Waiting for the morning bell to ring in homeroom, Stan felt no better than yesterday. After a brief nap, he had stayed up all night playing Fortnite and intermittently checking Kyle’s Instagram. Kyle was sitting up front next to Butters, who kept whispering to him. Kyle seemed impassive, and if he was replying at all to Butters, Stan couldn’t tell. He craned his neck forward, trying to overhear the conversation.

“Dude.”

Stan startled and looked at Token. “What?” 

“You alright, bro?” Token had a knowing look on his face, which Stan found irritating. 

“Yes. I’m just trying to see the board.”

Token looked at the board. A mission statement about the school’s standards of excellence was printed on it. Stan had twenty-twenty vision—as all his football teammates knew—but anyone would have been able to read Mrs. Holland’s large, neat handwriting. 

“Alright,” said Token lightly, reaching into his backpack. 

As Clyde walked through the door, Stan imagined Token telling him about this, and he scowled, slumping deeper into his chair. 

A few days later, Stan sat at the lunch table with the other football players, picking the plasticine cheese off his sandwich. 

“Oh my god, you guys,” Cartman laughed, his voice weak and reedy. “Kyle’s hair. Oh my god, I have died and gone to actual heaven, you guys.”

Token glanced over at Kyle, who was sitting at his usual table with Craig’s group, and Stan looked too, as if he didn’t already know. Kyle’s hair was piled on top of his head in a man bun. Well, more of a man poof. But it worked for him, somehow. 

“Cartman, shut the fuck up about Kyle,” growled Clyde. “For the last time, I do. Not. Care.”

“Yeah, dude, why are you so obsessed with it? Craig’s been dressing weird for years; it’s no big deal.” Token popped open the plastic lid of his power bowl. 

Cartman scoffed. “Stan, do you believe this, seriously? Like—how stupid does he look, seriously!”

“Eh, Cartman’s always been obsessed with Kyle,” said Stan to the others. “It’s kind of adorable, actually.”

“Oh, you guys can suck my asshole,” said Cartman, shoving tater tots into his mouth. He changed the subject to some horror movie that had just come out, and Stan was disappointed in himself. He actually would like very much to continue talking about Kyle.

In reality, Stan was the obsessed one. He was looking at Kyle’s Instagram at least once a day, though Kyle hadn’t posted any new photos recently. Stan had seen every single picture on there, the earliest ones featuring the grinning boy in the oversized ushanka that Stan had been Super Best Friends with. 

The _new_ Kyle was the source of Stan’s fascination, though. As he’d scrolled through, he noticed that Kyle was wearing makeup in several of the more recent selfies. Just eyeliner, and some shimmery stuff on his cheeks, but it looked nice, much softer than it did in real life. A picture of Kyle in gold short-shorts and a short blond wig caught Stan’s attention, and he clicked on it, preparing for the wave of secondhand embarrassment that would follow. 

He let out a breath, surprised. Kyle actually looked—pretty good. His skinny frame, though still blindingly pale, was starting to tone up. Stan swiped left, revealing another picture of Kyle in the same getup, this time turned around. His butt filled out the shorts really well. He must have done tons of squats.

An uneasy feeling pooled in Stan’s gut. Why, though? It shouldn’t be weird to look at pictures of someone who used to be your best friend.

But it was. Mainly, Stan figured, because this wasn’t the same person he had been best friends with. The real Kyle was gone, changed forever, and it was sad. But Stan was also proud, seeing this picture. It seemed as if his little best friend was finally starting to man up. 

Except, no—Stan clicked on a picture of Kyle with a face full of makeup, including lipstick, fake eyelashes, and drawn-in eyebrows, and thought that ‘manning up’ might not be an accurate description at all. Kyle’s hair was straightened, and he was wearing some type of women’s top. Stan thought it might be a swimsuit.

Kyle really did look like a girl in the photo, albeit a weird girl. Actually, not that weird of a girl. If Stan saw a girl that looked like that, he wouldn’t think she was weird. He might even think she was kind of cute. Huh.

Stan scratched the back of his neck. Maybe Kyle should be a professional drag queen instead of a model. He had such a delicate, pretty look compared to the gaudy stereotype in Stan’s mind, but maybe that’s why he’d be perfect.

As Kyle continued to not post any new Instagrams, Stan grew frustrated. How was he supposed to know what was happening between Kyle and Craig?

After catching glimpses of Kyle’s man bun in the halls all day, Stan vowed to wait a week before checking Kyle’s profile again. Nothing good could come of this stress, and Stan wasn’t sure what he was so worked up about anyway. Since he didn’t have football practice, he went to the gym for a little while, but it didn’t distract him enough. He played video games for the rest of the night, annoyed with himself. 

Earlier than usual, his eyelids started dropping, and Stan paused the game, slumping down into his beanbag chair to rest them for a bit. He fell asleep, drooling onto his shoulder.

“Dude, wake up.” 

Stan opened his eyes. Kyle was leaning over him, wearing his old green ushanka. 

“Kyle? How did you get in here?” Stan straightened up.

“I always used to come in here,” Kyle said, annoyed, kneeling on the floor in front of him.

“Well—it’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you, too,” said Kyle, smiling wide. “I have to ask you something.”

“Anything,” said Stan, perhaps too quickly. 

“Can we be best friends again?” Kyle took Stan’s hand. “Please.”

“Yes, of course!”

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a dick.” Kyle looked down. “I’m going to go back to normal now.”

“Well…” Stan floundered. “You don’t have to do that. I mean, we can be friends no matter what.”

“No, this is the only way.” 

Stan realized that the hand holding his was small, and when he squinted at Kyle, he saw, for the first time, that Kyle was nine years old. 

Stan woke with a start, kicking over the two liter bottle of Double Dew on the floor. He quickly dove to catch it, only a small amount spilling onto the carpet. Only half awake, he got into bed. His final act before sleep dragged him under was to curse Kyle. For what, exactly, he didn’t have time to sort out.

The next morning, his urge to check Kyle’s page was stronger than ever, but he resisted, proud of himself. If he could make it a whole week, then maybe he could stop checking it altogether. But he was willing to take it a step at a time. 

Stan smiled in the mirror after his teeth were brushed. He looked good, hot even. “Remember who the fuck you are,” he whispered to his reflection, and then quickly left the bathroom, feeling stupid. 

When he arrived to homeroom, the door was still locked. There were ten minutes until the bell, and Mrs. Holland hadn’t arrived yet. Stan lined up by the door, feeling dorky, but knowing he didn’t really have time to do anything else. 

Kyle walked up with Butters. This time, Kyle was the one who was talking animatedly. It was too quiet for Stan to hear, but he could tell by the gleam in Kyle’s eyes that he was excited. He used to talk to Stan like that. 

Stan quickly pulled out his phone and went to Instagram. Kyle’s page, was, of course, the first suggested result. He clicked on it and scanned the thumbnails. Nothing new. The last picture was the same one from over a week ago, a selfie of Kyle and Ike sneering, captioned “Bro[ther]flovskis.”

Stan sighed, almost audibly, and then realized that Wendy was standing next to him, practically breathing down his neck. 

“Dude!” he yelped, shutting his phone screen off. “Don’t look at my phone!”

“I didn’t mean to!” said Wendy, stepping backward. 

Token walked up, putting his arm around Wendy’s shoulder. She was tall but he was taller, so it worked. “Stop showing my girlfriend porn, man,” he joked, laughing. 

“Ha,” Stan said, smiling tightly. He didn’t even know they were dating again, and didn’t really care. Wendy’s cheeks went red, and she gave Stan a pitying look. After Wendy kissed Token good morning and flounced off to her own homeroom, Stan deleted the Instagram app from his phone. He didn’t need that headache.

It was Friday and there was no game this week, though they still had football practice after school. Stan did better than he had all week, finally able to put Kyle out of his mind. By the time he got out of the showers, he felt confident and relaxed. 

“Don’t forget, we have that gay thing tomorrow,” Clyde said to Token as he pulled a t-shirt over his wet hair. 

“Aww, are you two finally going to butt fuck?” Cartman sat on the bench with his hands on his spread knees. He liked hanging out in his tighty-whities after they showered, and the muscles he’d gained from football only served to make him more disgusting, in Stan’s opinion. 

“Not tomorrow,” said Token, spritzing body spray under his arms. “Craig invited us to the Rocky Horror Picture Show.”

“The fuck?” said Cartman. 

“It’s a play about drag queens,” said Clyde. “I’m only going so I can see Bebe naked.” He wiggled his eyebrows. Token smacked his shoulder. 

Stan recognized the name from Kyle’s pictures with the gold shorts. He had Googled it; apparently it was a pretty popular event.

“Oh shit,” he interjected, thinking quickly. “I’ve heard of that. Supposedly it’s really trippy if you get baked first.”

“For real?” said Clyde. 

“Yeah. It came out in the seventies, and it’s not just gay, it’s like… punk rock, and stuff.”

“Huh,” said Token, closing his locker. “Well, wanna come with us tomorrow? We can smoke the Mercury OG I just bought and then check out the show.”

“Yeah, dude,” said Stan, his stomach buzzing happily. 

“You in, big man?” Clyde asked Cartman.

“Nah, enjoy your throuple date,” said Cartman, scratching his balls. “I’ve got a date with an actual woman, in Fairplay.”

“Actual woman?” Token wrinkled his nose. “Is it that old cougar again?”

“Pssh. She’s twenty-three. And she’s hotter than the bitches at this school, especially Wendy.”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s true,” said Token. ‘Well, have fun playing with your babysitter.”

“I will,” said Cartman, smiling predatorily. 

On Saturday morning, Stan woke up way too early, and was unable to get back to sleep. He was nervous about seeing Kyle, and even more nervous about Kyle seeing him. The show was going to start at eight. Stan had read that the show traditionally started at midnight, but was grateful for this change. It seemed like a lot of high school kids were in the South Park cast, so that was probably why. He was supposed to go to Token’s at four, which felt eons away.

With nothing better to do, he decided to plan his outfit. He wasn’t going to dress up like a drag queen, that was for damn sure, but he needed to look good on a Saturday night out.

He put on his go-to first date look: a tight black v-neck t-shirt and red skinny jeans. He rolled the sleeves up to show off his muscles and looked in the mirror. This outfit had gotten him to third base so many times. When girls saw his bulge in those jeans, they couldn’t help investigating. 

But for hanging out with the guys? It was a bit much. And Token, at least, already knew this was Stan’s ‘date’ outfit. No, it wouldn’t do.

Stan took it off and dressed in his more casual clothes. Jeans that were a little loose, a baggy shirt. He even put on his old blue beanie with the little red puffball. Maybe Kyle would get a kick out of it. 

Stan looked in the mirror on the back of his closet and cringed. He didn’t even look like himself. Well, he didn’t look like his current self, but he definitely looked like he was nine again, an overgrown version of the same kid. It reminded him of his dream about Kyle, and he quickly took these clothes off as well, flinging the beanie into the deep recesses of his closet.

He put on black skinny jeans, tight but not too tight. He wore them to school often, and they were a little worn, but he rarely washed them to maintain their inky blackness. 

He reached into his drawer of band tees, settling on a DVDA shirt. It had been one of his and Kyle’s favorite bands to listen to together, and Stan didn’t really mind if Kyle thought he was wearing the shirt just for him. He was.

Stan rolled up the sleeves and checked himself out in the mirror. This outfit had a similar effect to the first one without being so—well, gay. He pulled his letterman jacket on over it, enjoying the way it clashed with his otherwise punkish outfit. Rebellious as fuck. 

Unsure what to do with the rest of his free time, Stan pulled out his Spanish homework. He’d been staring at it for five minutes, not registering anything, when his phone rang. 

His ringtone was “Uncle Fucker,” which was cool again in a sort of nostalgic way after Terrance and Philip’s death. The jury was still out on the nature of their demise, but it was publicly declared a joint suicide. Stan knew in his heart that they had been murdered by the American government. There was no other way.

He saw Kenny’s name on his phone, along with a photo of Kenny’s ass where his face should be in the hood of his favorite orange jacket. 

“Yo, dude,” Stan said.

“Sup, Broldemort,” said Kenny. “How’s the homeland?”

“Same shit, different me. Without you I am but a shell of a man.”

Kenny laughed. “Right, I’m sure that’s _my_ fault.”

“It is. Coming back anytime soon?”

“I’m never coming back, dude. Fuck South Park.”

Stan rolled his eyes, afraid Kenny was serious. “Tour life treating you well?”

“Yeah, we have a pretty big show tonight. Dude,” Kenny said suddenly, and Stan could hear the smile in his voice. “This shit is _unreal_. I swear I’ve hooked up with a different girl every night we’ve been on the road. My Tinder says I’m twenty. The oldest chick I hooked up with was like thirty.”

“Ew,” said Stan. 

“Don’t hate the playa. What are you up to?”

“Gonna head over to Token’s and smoke something called Mercury, I think. Weed, obviously.”

“Killer. On the road we smoke crack.”

“What the fuck!” Stan practically screamed.

“I’m joking, dude.”

“Well, I don’t know your fucking life,” Stan huffed. “Anyway, after that we’re going to the Rocky Horror Picture Show.”

“Tight,” said Kenny. He paused, sounding like he was taking a drag off a cigarette and then exhaling. “I went there once when I was trying to bang Red.”

“I thought you did bang Red.”

“Yes, but first I was trying to. You going there to see Kyle?”

Stan paused. Of course Kenny would know Kyle was in it; the fucker knew everything. “Eh, not really. Token and Clyde wanted to go see Craig. I don’t really talk to Kyle anymore, do you?”

Kenny paused. “Yeah,” he said finally. “I call him just to bug him, like I’m doing to you now.”

“Well, good for you,” said Stan, annoyed. 

“You guys should kiss and make up at the show tonight.”

“Ha.” Stan rolled his eyes.

“No, I’m dead serious, man. Just kiss him, and everything will be fine.”

“Right. I forgot you were the fucking wise wizard, or whatever. Have a good show tonight, and wear a condom. I won’t listen to you cry if your dick falls off.”

After hanging up with Kenny, Stan still felt weird and anxious. He dug around under his bed until he found his secret box, a blue thing with latches that was meant to hold photos. All he had inside at the moment was a small round bottle of Chambord that he’d stolen from his mother and a sticky shot glass. He poured the thick purple liqueur into the glass, and threw it back. 

He started coughing. He was pretty sure that you weren’t supposed to drink Chambord like this, but he didn’t care. He poured himself another and drank it down. 

This time, he couldn’t stop coughing. He was afraid he was going to puke. Stan was grateful that his parents were out; they would probably assume he was smoking weed in there, and his streaming red eyes wouldn’t help. 

It wasn’t enough alcohol to get him drunk, but it gave a nice buzz, soothing Stan’s nerves. The time went by much more quickly, and at three fifty Stan drove a mile up the road to Token’s, in the rich part of the neighborhood. 

They smoked a little before playing video games, and then again before leaving for the theater. Stan drove everyone in his car. He had a high alcohol tolerance, but he was slightly less accustomed to weed, and he had no time to be nervous about seeing Kyle while focusing intently on the road.

“Wendy saved us seats toward the back,” said Token, looking at his phone. He was sitting up front with Stan, Clyde munching loudly on chips in the back seat. 

At the movie stand, they bought their tickets and “prop kits,” little party bags filled with miscellaneous items. Stan peeked into his and saw a newspaper, a party hat, some playing cards, toilet paper, and other various things that didn’t seem to follow any sort of theme.

“Weird,” said Clyde, looking into his own bag, which appeared to have the same exact things. 

They found Wendy in the movie theater, her jacket and purse laid across three seats. Token sat next to her and Clyde sat next to him, leaving Stan to sit by the aisle. 

“I’m so glad you guys came!” said Wendy, leaning over so that she could see all three of them. “There are so many of our classmates in this show. Kyle is really good,” she said to Stan, who kept his expression neutral. 

“I didn’t know Kyle was in this,” Token said. “Though that does explain why he’s been wearing makeup.”

“Oh, he doesn’t play a drag queen,” said Wendy. “But, anyway, no more spoilers! I want you to be surprised when you see everyone!”

After a few minutes, the screen turned on, showing a picture of red lips on a black background that Stan recognized. Kevin Stoley stepped in front of it, dressed like an old man. He was followed by Millie Larsen and Nichole Daniels, who were wearing red and black dresses with fishnet tights. They looked like slutty badass flight attendants, or something. Stan was pleasantly surprised, and cheered along with the rest of the crowd. 

Kevin gave some speech about the show in a pompous accent that was clearly supposed to be British. It was extremely embarrassing, and Stan tuned him out, focusing instead on the cute little leg kicks and giggles Nichole and Millie would do when Kevin said something that was supposed to be interesting. 

Suddenly, a bunch of people stood up. Stan estimated it was about a fourth of the theater. 

“Stand up, you guys!” Wendy whispered urgently. She was still sitting.

“Huh?” said Stan. “Why?”

“He said to stand if you’ve never been to a live Rocky show before!”

“I’m not standing,” said Token. “They’re probably going to make us do something weird.”

“Yeah, me either,” said Clyde.

“Come on, you guys, it’s part of the experience!” said Wendy, tugging on Token’s arm.

“So they _are_ going to make us do something weird?” Token asked.

Wendy opened her mouth, looking guilty, then shut it. “Yes.”

“No, thanks,” said Token. 

Stan watched as the ‘virgins,’ as Kevin was calling him, were summoned to the stage. 

“Takes one to know one,” Clyde sniggered to Stan.

“Huh?”

“A _virgin_.”

“Oh.” Stan chuckled hollowly. “Yeah.”

The virgins were forced to repeat an oath, which Stan could barely hear, shouted over the expanse of the theater. Millie and Nichole were standing by each of the aisles, and as the virgins passed by to return to their seats, the girls drew red Vs in lipstick on each of their cheeks.

“Weird,” muttered Clyde. “The only time I want a girl to put lipstick on me is if it’s on my dick. With her lips.”

This time, Stan ignored him. 

“My lovely Trixies have picked two very special virgins from the crowd to participate in a virgin sacrifice,” Kevin drawled. Stan was shocked to see Ike and his friend Fillmore on stage, grinning widely, each with both cheeks painted with Vs. They were in seventh grade, but Ike had started kindergarten when he was three, so he was only ten years old. Stan wondered if Kyle knew his little brother was here, and then realized he must. That’s how Ike and Fillmore got chosen to do the sacrifice. 

Kevin gave them a few options for the competition, and they agreed on Dead Celebrity Sex Noises. Stan tried his best to tune them out until Ike won with an incredibly high pitched imitation of Michael Jackson having a screaming orgasm. He won a box set of the five original Halloween movies on BluRay, and promised the crowd he would share them with Fillmore. 

“That was weird,” said Token.

“Eh,” said Wendy. “Par for the course.”

Finally, the show started. The lips reappeared and started singing. Millie and Nichole started dancing, mouthing the words of the song. 

Stan’s high had reached a crescendo, and he couldn’t believe his luck, watching two of the hottest girls in school dancing like that in front of everyone. They were both cheerleaders, so the dance had a bit of a peppy quality that was out of place, but Stan didn’t mind one bit.

As the first song finished, Bebe and the goth kid Michael took the stage. Bebe was wearing an old fashioned blue dress and a hat, and Michael had his hair parted and gelled down. He was wearing fake glasses and a suit. Stan was pretty sure he’d never seen Michael in non-goth clothes, and it was hilarious to him. 

“Damn, Bebe is way hotter than that chick on screen,” Clyde breathed. 

Stan personally didn’t think so, but he kept that to himself. Bebe wasn’t really his type. Too big of boobs, or something. As Michael and Bebe danced and lip-synced, it was almost easy to forget who they were in real life. At the end of their song, Bebe grabbed Michael and planted a big kiss on his lips, mirroring the couple in the movie. When they pulled away, Michael looked vaguely disgusted, and Stan was back to thinking of him as ‘the goth kid,’ amused. 

Kevin gave another little speech. Seeing his character on screen, the lofty voice made sense, but it was so much better when Kevin just mouthed the words. Stan was disappointed that Millie and Nichole’s characters weren’t actually in the movie, but that just made them even sexier on their own. They draped themselves over Kevin as he ‘acted.’ “Lucky,” Clyde muttered, and Stan had to agree.

As the show went on, Stan found himself paying more attention to the movie than to his classmates acting down below. It was ridiculous, but it was entertaining, and he thought he might understand how something like this could stay popular after so many years. 

The other goth kids, Pete and Ferkle, played background roles, running around the stage with umbrellas dressed in all black. Afterward, Michael and Bebe knocked on the door of a castle, and when the door opened, Stan, Clyde, and Token gasped almost in unison. 

“Butters?!” Stan said.

“Yes!” squealed Wendy.

Butters looked as insane as the guy in the movie, wearing a bald cap with long blond hair glued to it in a male baldness pattern. He started his hilarious song and dance, accompanied by Henrietta in a French maid outfit, wearing a red curly wig. 

“Butters! Butters! Butters!” Stan chanted, Clyde and Token joining in. 

Butters looked into the crowd, stumbling over the choreography. Stan could tell that he couldn’t see them with the stage lights shining onto him, and felt kind of bad as Henrietta pushed Butters in the right direction. 

Red came on stage in a sparkly magician outfit and started tap dancing. She looked kind of hot, too, to Stan’s surprise. This show really wasn’t all that gay. At least so far. Stan had a feeling that would change once the drag queens came on stage. 

Shortly after Stan thought this, the music changed, becoming ominous.

“All rise for the queen!” Kevin shouted, though his character wasn’t on screen. 

Wendy stood, and this time, the rest of them followed. Whatever was happening, Stan didn’t want to miss it. 

Craig was coming down the aisle, a black cape wrapped around him like he was Dracula. His mullet was all curly, and he was wearing red lipstick and black eyeshadow, his face painted white. When he got to the stage, he threw off his cape, and stood with his hands on his hips. His outfit consisted of a corset vest, black briefs, thigh high fishnets with garters, black gloves, a pearl necklace, and sky high platform heels. He had fake tattoos drawn on his arm and thigh. Everyone in the crowd went wild, but especially Token and Clyde. Stan had never heard them scream like that, even while watching the Broncos play. 

They continued to cheer during Craig’s song, getting particularly excited when Craig would do something extra sexual. He looked ridiculous, but he was really owning the role, getting off on the attention. Stan was more annoyed than amused, but he was only half-watching, wondering where Kyle was. It seemed like the movie had been on for a while. After the song, Michael and Bebe were stripped down to their underwear by the other characters. Micheal was scrawny in white briefs, not unlike the actor he was mimicking. Bebe wore a white slip and bra, her breasts pushed together high on her chest.

“Unf,” Clyde breathed near Stan’s ear. “I totally have a boner right now.”

“Stop,” said Stan, punching him in the arm. 

He turned his attention toward the movie, unable to keep watching Craig. Tim Curry’s portrayal was much better. When a hand rose from the rainbow tank, Stan realized another character was about to be revealed, and he held his breath. 

Suddenly, there he was. Kyle. He stood on top of the tank, which in real life appeared to be a wooden crate, and lip synced, flexing his muscles. He looked even scrawnier when compared to the guy on screen, but he also seemed confident in the role. As he ran around the stage acting like a sexy macho man, Stan was impressed, and a little enthralled. His heart leapt into his throat as Kyle ran down the aisle, Craig chasing him. They passed right by Stan. Stan tried to catch Kyle’s eye, but he was gone too quickly. They must have run out the double doors in the back of the theater and back in on the other side, because after a few seconds Craig was chasing Kyle down the other aisle, finally ending up on the stage as the song ended. 

Of course Kyle would take the role of Craig’s plaything. Their onstage chemistry was undeniable, and Stan was disappointed. Maybe Craig wasn’t as bad as he’d thought—Token and Clyde seemed to like him. At least, they once did and were still holding on the acquaintanceship. But when Stan looked at him, he just _knew_ that Craig wasn’t right for Kyle. 

He was high enough to be honest with himself, and he knew that the only reason he was upset about it was because he wanted to fuck Kyle himself. Badly. He hadn’t realized it until now, but there was no other explanation for his sudden obsession. He didn’t actually _want_ to, it was just a fantasy. Tonight, he would beat off to the thought of ripping off those little golden briefs and get it out of his system. There was nothing to be ashamed of—it had nothing to do with reality, and he could forget about it later.

Later in the show, Kyle and Bebe performed a sex scene together. Their chemistry was just as convincing as Kyle and Craig’s, which lifted Stan’s spirits. He was pretty sure Kyle was one hundred percent gay, meaning that there was no way he was attracted to Bebe. Maybe he wasn’t attracted to Craig, either. On the other hand, Stan was totally straight and having gay thoughts about Kyle, so maybe Kyle was having straight thoughts about Bebe. Maybe he was just lusting after everybody. Stan narrowed his eyes.

Toward the end of the show, Kyle, Bebe, Michael, and Red were all wearing black briefs and corsets, their faces painted white. Kyle’s makeup made him look eerie, but he looked surprisingly good in a corset and heels. At one point he straddled the feather boa he was holding, bouncing his junk against it, singing about an ‘orgasmic rush of lust.’ 

Like he’d been struck by lightning, Stan realized that he would absolutely fuck Kyle if the opportunity presented itself. He wasn’t sure how he hadn’t realized this before—after all, he’d known Kyle was gay for over six months. But back then, he still saw him as _Kyle_ , and now… 

Stan watched Kyle roll around on the floor, groping at Craig. 

Now he was something else. Something Stan wanted. Too bad Kyle was definitely not interested, or he wouldn’t have shut Stan out of his life. 

Stan clapped when the show was over, wondering if everything was shit or if it only seemed that way.


	3. Chapter 3

After the show, Wendy led Token, Clyde, and Stan out the emergency exit, the alarms apparently having been disabled. 

“This is where the cast hangs out,” she told them. 

A few of the cast members were already back there. Craig and Kyle were smoking cigarettes, still in their costumes and garish makeup. Stan had never known Kyle to smoke, but not much would surprise him right now. 

Kyle smirked at Stan as they walked over. He didn’t look surprised either. So he _had_ seen Stan before, while he was running through the audience. Stan wasn’t sure what he preferred, but he liked to think that Kyle had put on such a sexual performance for his benefit. 

“Enjoy the show?” Craig intoned. 

“Dude,” Token gushed. “I _loved_ it. You have the best role. No offense,” he said to Kyle. 

“None taken.” Kyle dragged on his cigarette, staining it with lipstick. 

“Kinda surprised you guys came,” said Craig, looking at Clyde. 

“Mainly ‘cause Wendy kept asking us to,” said Clyde.

“ _And_ we wanted to see you,” said Token, giving Clyde a look. “Yes, Wendy kept asking, but once I realized you were in it I was down.”

“Sweet,” said Craig. “Thanks.”

Bebe came through the double doors, her stage makeup wiped off and replaced with regular makeup. Her curly blonde hair was pulled back into a messy bun, and she wore a loose black dress. 

“Wendy!” she squealed, embracing her.

“Oh my god, you were so good!” said Wendy.

“You were great,” said Clyde,

“Thank you,” said Bebe, grinning at him. 

She walked over to Craig, slipping an arm around his waist. Craig pulled her toward him and kissed her on the mouth, laughing at the red stain left behind. Bebe rubbed her lips together, blending Craig’s lipstick with her own, and then pouted at him.

“Gorgeous as ever,” said Craig, smiling.

Kyle was still smoking, apparently unfazed. Stan quickly looked at Clyde. He looked sour, but not surprised. Apparently, Bebe and Craig were a known thing. Stan made a mental note to ask Token about this later, but for now he was just relieved that Craig wasn’t dating Kyle. 

The door opened again, and Butters walked through. He had taken his bald cap off, traces of spirit gum stuck to his fluffy hair, and his white face makeup was mostly wiped off. There were a few spots he had missed. 

“Hey, fellas,” he said nervously, walking past them until he was next to Kyle. Kyle took his time putting out his cigarette on the brick wall, and then put his arm around Butters, kissing him on the temple.

Butters turned red, and to Stan’s horror, so did he. 

“Aww!” Wendy cooed. “You guys are adorable! How long have you been together?!”

Butters’s flush deepened. “We—I mean—we’re not really—” He looked up at Kyle hopefully. 

“We’re hanging out,” said Kyle nonchalantly. 

There was a heavy pause in the air. Kyle seemed oblivious to it as Butters tried for a smile, making him look extra sad. 

“So, anyway,” Bebe said. “I’m having an after party at my house. If you guys don’t have plans, you should come. Actually, please come! Cancel your other plans!”

Wendy laughed. “I’m down. What about you guys?”

“Sure,” said Token. Clyde and Stan nodded. Stan wasn’t sure why he wanted to go; he just knew that his night didn’t end here. 

On the way to Bebe’s, Stan felt torn. He was personally offended that Kyle liked Butters, the kid they ripped on together all the time in their youth. On the other hand, it didn’t sound like he really _liked_ him that much. Since Craig was apparently not gay, though that seemed impossible, maybe Kyle thought Butters was all he could get. Stan wondered what would happen if Kyle knew someone like Stan was into him, someone attractive and cool. He’d probably ditch Butters immediately. Then Stan felt bad for thinking about Butters this way, and even Kyle. Kyle wasn’t that shallow, and Stan had known them both way too long to cause drama. Not to mention what kind of rumors would start.

Trying to hook up with Kyle would only lead to drama, rumors, and pain, it seemed like. Stan didn’t need any of that in his life. But as he parked next to the sidewalk by Bebe’s house, he vowed to at least make Kyle his friend again. That much he could do.

He poured himself a drink in Bebe’s kitchen, mixing whiskey and off-brand cola. Butters was in there, making a drink for Kyle while Kyle talked to Craig. 

“H—How’d you like the show, Stan?” Butters asked nervously. 

“Huh? Oh. I liked it,” said Stan. “You did good.”

“Thanks,” Butters grinned. “I’m okay, I guess. Kyle did really good, though! Don’t you think?”

“Uh huh,” said Stan, annoyed that everyone seemed to want to tell him about Kyle.

Stan had hoped to end up in a conversation with Kyle organically, but he seemed to always be with Butters, Craig, or another cast member. 

Clyde was talking Bebe’s ear off, and though she seemed vaguely bored of it, Craig did nothing to rescue her. Token and Wendy were talking to Red and Nichole about some wine that they were all drinking.

“Are you fucking serious?” Henrietta said loudly, and everyone turned to look at her.

“Calm down, it’s nothing personal,” Michael hissed.

“Um, yeah it fucking is,” Henrietta scoffed. She turned to a guy who was a few years older than Stan and the others. He had played the German wheelchair guy, and was apparently the cast leader. “Micheal just asked why fat girls always play Magenta.”

“Whoa,” said the cast leader. 

“I didn’t mean it as an insult,” Michael growled. “I was just wondering, because she’s so skinny in the movie.”

“That’s because there isn’t fat representation in movies!” said Henrietta. “Especially not in fucking 1975!”

“Are you saying that fat people can only play fat characters?” said Pete, flicking his bangs out of his eyes. “Does that mean you can’t play Brad because you’re half Asian?”

“Whoa, okay,” said the cast leader, putting up his hands. 

“Fuck you, that’s not what I’m saying!” spat Michael. “It was just a question, Jesus Christ.”

“Well, Michael, I think you can see why that question is offensive,” the cast leader said.

“Um, yeah!” said Henrietta.

Michael scoffed. “Oh, I’m so sorry I _offended_ a bunch of conformist fags. That’s what I live for. And you did, once, too.” He gave Pete a withering look. 

The cast leader stood up, looking furious. “You know how I feel about the ‘f’ word. Get out of here, you’re permanently banned from the cast.”

Micheal slammed his glass down on the coffee table, and walked to the door, pausing when he passed Ferkle, who was leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette.

“Nobody fucking understands me,” Michael said to Ferkle. “Typical.”

He walked out the door, slamming it behind him.

Ferkle took a long drag on his cigarette. “Whatever.”

Henrietta turned to Pete. “You didn’t have to stick up for me,” she said, sounding grateful and surprised.

Pete shrugged, slouching back into the couch. “I’m just sick of his shit.”

Stan was starting to feel like he was eavesdropping, the more public drama finished. He scanned the room for Kyle, who had been there only moments before, talking to Kevin. He was gone, and Kevin was sipping his drink as Millie muttered something to him about Michael.

Stan sighed. Before entering the party, he had grabbed a small, half-full bottle of Black Label from the trunk of his car and stuck it in the pocket of his letterman. He didn’t want anyone else drinking it, so he stepped out the sliding glass door to Bebe’s backyard where he might have some privacy. He turned the corner, to the left side of her house, and almost jumped when he saw Kyle there, smoking alone. 

Kyle, like Bebe, had replaced his stage makeup with more traditional makeup. The sparkles on his cheeks reflected in the flood lights under Bebe’s roof.

“Hey,” Stan said. He pulled the bottle out of his pocket and took a swig. 

“Enjoy the show?” Kyle asked, smiling in a way that made the question sound suggestive. 

Stan felt himself blush, hoping it wasn’t visible. He was sure, now, that Kyle felt his eyes on him the whole time.

“It was good. You did really well,” said Stan.

Kyle snorted, and took a drag from his cigarette. Stan noted that it was an American Spirit, the only kind of cigarette he had ever tried. Supposedly it was more natural, though Kenny had told him it didn’t make much of a difference. “I would have thought it was too flamboyant for the star quarterback,” Kyle said, smirking.

“Excuse me?” said Stan, taken aback. “I have been nothing but supportive of you. I don’t appreciate being—being shunned, and treated like some sort of homophobe. I’m not.”

Kyle’s expression softened. “I know.”

“Okay, so…” Stan stared at Kyle. He considered asking him for a cigarette. It seemed to fit the mood, but he resisted. “So why did you ditch me, then.”

Kyle sighed, and looked down. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ditch you. But, like. It’s just easier being around people who are a little more—I don’t know—like me, I guess.” He reached his hand out, and Stan gave him the bottle.

“‘Like you?’ What does that even mean? Craig is straight!” Stan said as Kyle took a sip.

“Craig is a genderfluid pansexual.” Kyle gave Stan a defiant look, passing the bottle back to him.

“Huh?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, fucking explain it to me then, Kyle! I don't care if you changed a bit as we got older, you're still the same kid I've always known and I love you.”

Kyle bit back a grin. 

“What?” said Stan, taking another sip.

“It’s just funny, to me. How you can be this obtuse.”

“ _What_?” Stan repeated.

“Okay.” Kyle put his cigarette butt out on the ground, and Stan briefly wondered if Bebe would get in trouble for it. “You say you love me, and you’re all upset that we don’t hang out anymore. But you don’t know the first thing about loving someone you can’t have. And that’s exactly why we can’t be friends.” His voice was shaking. “It’s not your fault, it’s just a fact.”

Kyle reached into the back pocket of his white jeans and pulled out the pack of cigarettes. His face was impassive as he lit one, but Stan could see tears glinting in his eyes, threatening to spill. 

Stan felt overwhelmed. He should have known… he really should have known. But it was going to be fine now; Stan was going to make everything okay. 

“How do you know I don’t have strong feelings for you, too?” Saying so felt like stepping off the edge of a cliff, but it felt good, too, like learning he could fly. 

He hadn’t predicted that Kyle’s face would turn red, his eyes wide with disbelief and his mouth drawn into a scowl. 

“This! This is why we’re not friends anymore,” Kyle growled. “I’m glad to be done with your dramatic _bullshit_!”

Kyle snatched the bottle out of Stan’s hand and drained it. There wasn’t a lot of scotch left, but it was more than one person should chug. When he was done, he threw the bottle to the ground, smashing it on Bebe’s patio. 

“Who’s the fucking dramatic one!” Stan screamed, his voice going shrill. 

Kyle threw his cigarette, half smoked and still burning, on top of the broken glass, and ran away. Stan could hear the sliding glass door shutting.

Stan reached down to save Kyle’s cigarette from the wreckage, checking to make sure that no glass had become embedded in the mouth part, and sucked on it. It tasted like Kyle, maybe. Stan wouldn’t know. 

He leaned against the brick wall, thinking. He should be happy that Kyle loved him, or at least used to, but all he could feel was the pressing weight of anxiety that he had blown his chance. 

He put the cigarette out next to Kyle’s previous one. Bebe would probably clean up before her parents got home, and if not, it wasn’t really Stan’s problem. 

When he reentered the house, Kyle was sitting on the couch. Butters was drunk, draped over his lap. He was playing with Kyle’s hair and mouthing at his neck. Kyle wasn’t participating, but he wasn’t stopping Butters, either. When he made eye contact with Stan, he gave the smallest of smiles, looking smug. 

Stan walked past him to the kitchen, which was connected to the living room, separated by a bar. He was annoyed, but also flattered. If Kyle was trying that hard to piss him off, maybe he still had a chance. 

Stan fixed himself another whiskey cola as Tweek hovered awkwardly around the cast leader. Apparently, he had done tech for the show, though Stan hadn’t noticed him there. 

“Sorry I fucked up my cue at the end, Winston,” Tweek moaned through gritted teeth. “Next show will be way better.”

“It’s fine,” said Winston. “I know it will be. Although, we’re short a Brad.” He sighed.

There was a silence that followed. Stan realized that no one wanted to take over Michael’s role, even though it was a big one. It was probably too heteronormative, or whatever. 

“I’ll do it,” he said. 

Tweek made a small sound of protest. Winston turned to look at him as if seeing him for the first time, and Stan realized that everyone in the general vicinity was staring at him. Kyle looked like he wanted to spit fire. 

“Fuck it,” said Winston. “You’re in. Show up to rehearsal Wednesday.”

“Um—what time? I have football practice ’til five.”

Winston laughed incredulously. “Six.”

Not long afterward, Clyde and Token were ready to go home, and Stan jumped at the opportunity to get out of there. 

“Dude, I can’t believe you’re going to be in the gay play,” Clyde cackled as they got onto the main road. 

“Yeah, I didn’t know you were into that stuff, man,” said Token. “It’s cool, though!”

“Yeah,” Stan agreed, though he wasn’t sure. As he sobered up he realized what a stupid idea it was. If this didn’t work, he would leave Kyle alone forever. And it probably wouldn’t, so. 

Stan mostly ignored Kyle and Butters for the next few days at school, and when he came home after football practice on Wednesday, he was sore and tired. Normally, after a practice like that, he would smoke a little pot in Token’s Benz to take the edge off. Today, however, he turned down the offer, and went home to eat leftovers before heading to the address Winston had given him. 

It was a small house shared by Winston and the guy who played Eddie, whose real name was Matt. Winston was nineteen and Matt was twenty-one, according to Butters, who talked Stan’s ear off for the first ten minutes he was there while Kyle socialized with everyone but them. 

Despite Butters’ best efforts, Stan felt awkward and out of place. 

“Want a drink before we get started?” asked Winston, prying the top off a Heineken.

“I’m fine, thanks,” said Stan. He knew it would be difficult, learning the role, and didn’t want to make it worse. Kyle smirked at him, as if he’d never seen Stan turn down a drink, which pissed Stan off. 

It was awkward acting alongside Bebe and Craig, made more awkward by the fact that his character and Kyle’s didn’t interact much. Stan wondered several times why he was even there, especially as he tripped and stumbled over the choreography. 

“You actually did great for a first-timer,” said Winston when rehearsal was over. “Especially one who isn’t as familiar with the film.”

“Well—thank you,” said Stan. He felt as though this couldn’t be true, but he appreciated hearing it. The experience had been interesting, to say the least. Though Kyle was being an ice queen, Stan’s other classmates were surprisingly welcoming, Craig and Bebe patiently guiding him through each scene. 

“Can you do another rehearsal on Friday?” Winston asked. 

“Oh, uh. I have a game.”

Winston nodded, looking thoughtful.

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah, we’ll figure it out. I have your contact info, so I’ll add you to the group chat.”

“Thanks,” said Stan, and he meant it. It was kind of nice to be included in this weird little group. 

“We gotta go, fellas, bye!” said Butters, waving with both hands while he and Kyle stood by the door.

“Bye!” said Nichole.

Stan didn’t say anything as they left. He waited a few minutes, hoping that they had driven away already and weren’t diddling in the car, and turned to Millie. “Well, I got homework, so I better head out.” He said bye to everyone, and then left. He realized that neither Butters nor Kyle had a car, so they must have been picked up by someone. Maybe Kyle’s mom. The thought made him feel more rejected than ever, somehow, and he played some shitty hardcore music while he drove home, needing an excuse to scream.


	4. Chapter 4

After the bell rang signaling the end of homeroom, Stan was surprised to see Kyle waiting by the door. 

“Hey,” Kyle said once Stan caught up. 

“Where’s Butters?” Stan muttered. Butters had been in homeroom with them, but dashed as soon as it was over. 

“He had a test in his next class, so he wanted to get there early.”

They walked together out of the building, shielding their eyes against the too-bright sun. 

“So, uh, Michael somehow wormed his way back into the cast,” said Kyle. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. And, uh, Winston said that since you didn’t have time to practice, Micheal is going to be playing Brad in the next show.”

Stan felt his heart sink. Well, this was it, then. He was stupid to think it could have worked out.

“Honestly, I think it’s a fucked up choice, and I don’t support it.”

Stan stopped walking. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” Kyle stopped too, looking at Stan. “I think that if you help with tech in the show, they’ll let you be in the next one. It’ll give you more time to practice, and, uh.” Kyle scratched his cheek. “I can help you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good,” said Stan, his spirits lifting. 

Kyle smirked. “The next show is a Gender Bender.”

“Aren’t they all?”

Kyle laughed. “Well. Kind of. But all the girl roles will be played by boys, and vice versa.”

“Are you going to play the ginger maid?” 

“Obviously,” said Kyle, tousling his hair. Stan couldn’t help but grin.

“Cool, I’ll be the tap dancer. If it’s not already taken.”

Kyle’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

Kyle pinched his lips together, his smile mostly in his eyes. “I’m pretty sure anyone would trade their role to see the quarterback dancing in drag.”

“I’m more than just a quarterback, you know.”

“I’ll say,” Kyle said, grinning. “Email Winston and let him know.”

“I’ll do that.”

Kyle smirked and held Stan’s gaze, lingering. Then he turned, and walked in the other direction, toward his next class. Stan wasn’t sure how to interpret that look, but it had to be a good thing. Either that, or Kyle was toying with him. But he chose to presume the best. 

He composed a quick email under his desk in first period, and by second had Winston’s reply. He said that Stan could do tech for their show on Saturday, and that they would discuss him playing Columbia afterward, though Winston didn’t foresee a problem. Feeling pleased, Stan tucked his phone back into his pocket.

After school, Stan decided to call Kenny. It had been a while since he’d returned Stan’s texts, and Stan tended to worry.

“How’s it going, Brodo Baggins?” Kenny answered.

“Actually—it’s going surprisingly well.” Without quite planning to, Stan told Kenny everything that had happened the past week. He almost left out the part about his crush on Kyle, and kind-of-sort-of telling Kyle so, but everything else was hollow without that information, and Stan knew Kenny wouldn’t judge him. He was also the only person who could really understand it, knowing both Stan and Kyle as well as he did. 

“So, anyway, I guess Kyle will help me get ready for the show. That’ll be fun.”

“For sure.” Kenny was quiet for a long time. 

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, dude. Just—be gentle with Kyle’s heart. I mean, I know you’ll try, but he’s always loved you.”

Stan scowled. “I’ve always loved him, too!” 

Kenny sighed. “Yeah, but—I mean—I had to hear about how much he loved you—”

“How horrible for you.”

“That’s not what I’m saying, Stan. Just, don’t try to make it more than it is because you want Kyle to talk to you again.”

“Whatever. I’m not trying to make it anything; I told you he was with Butters.” Irritated, Stan changed the subject to what Kenny was up to in Seattle. Kenny joked a lot about doing hard drugs, which worried Stan. He thought Kenny might be the type to try anything out of sheer curiosity, though Kenny assured him that wasn’t actually the case. 

On Saturday evening, Stan went to the movie theater, dressed in all black as he’d been instructed. Tweek met him there, a black beanie covering his bright hair, and showed him the ropes: how to do the spotlight, move the props, play the videos. It was all pretty basic, but Stan didn’t want to mess anything up, so he listened intently as the rest of the cast showed up. 

Tweek handled the more difficult aspects of the show, directing Stan when he needed to fill in. It was easy, and actually fun. Somehow, he liked the movie even more the third time he watched it. 

Tonight’s afterparty was at Red’s. Her mom was upstairs, apparently, but didn’t care if they drank there, which Stan found odd but convenient. 

“Want a gin and tonic?” Kyle said, sitting next to him on the couch. His hair had gotten sweaty tucked into the wig cap, and his wet curls were pushed back off his face. He wasn’t wearing as much makeup as usual, the faint freckles on his nose and cheeks visible. 

“Uh, I don’t think I’ve ever had it. What does it taste like?”

“Try mine.” Kyle handed Stan a glass with some type of cloudy liquid and a lemon wedge. Stan took a sip. It wasn’t really his thing, but he liked the idea of Kyle making him a drink. 

“Yeah, sure.”

Kyle set his glass down on the coffee table in front of them and went to the kitchen. Butters was hovering near them, not saying much. Kyle returned a few minutes later with a gin and tonic in one hand and a blueberry flavored wine cooler in the other. 

“For you,” he said, handing the glass to Stan. “And for you,” he said, handing the blue bottle to Butters.

“Th-thank you, Kyle!” Butters sputtered, cradling the bottle with both hands.

Kyle sat back down next to Stan. 

Winston opened a Heineken with the end of an orange lighter. “So, Stan, I’ve talked to some of the guys about the Gender Bender show and I think everyone is on board with you playing Columbia.”

“That’s great!” said Stan.

Pete scoffed. “Yeah, even though you’ve literally never done a show before.”

“What, _you_ want to be Columbia?” said Nichole.

“Well, no,” said Pete. 

“I think it’s a fantastic idea,” said Craig, making a frame with his thumbs and pointer fingers and holding it up to Stan’s face. “Someone get this man a sequin top hat.”

Bebe giggled, smacking Craig on the butt. 

“I can help you with the makeup,” Kyle said quietly. “If you want.”

“Yeah! I mean, uh, yes, please.” Stan could feel himself blushing. 

“Cool,” said Kyle into his drink, and without the makeup covering his cheeks, Stan could see that he was blushing, too. 

Eventually, Red told everyone it was time to go. Stan walked out with Kyle, Butters, Bebe, and Craig, who were all riding in Craig’s car. 

“Well, I’m that way.” Stan pointed down the street. “I’ll see you guys at school.”

“Wait!” said Kyle. He turned to Craig. “Stan lives closer to me. I’ll just ride with him.”

“Sounds good, dude,” said Craig, ruffling Kyle’s hair. This normally would have creeped Stan out, but he didn’t mind that much. Craig wasn’t so bad. 

“Drive safe, you guys!” said Bebe, turning to walk in the opposite direction.

Butters looked lost for a second, then turned around and followed them, saying nothing.

Stan and Kyle got into the Civic. Stan waited until the doors were shut before turning to Kyle. 

“Dude, Butters could have come with us. He lives just a few blocks over.”

“Yeah…Butters.” Kyle clicked his seatbelt into place. “About that. We broke up. Well—” Kyle laughed. “We were never actually _together_ , but we stopped hanging out. Hooking up, I mean.”

“Oh,” said Stan, feeling happy and strange. “Why?”

“Eh. I mean. He was never really my type, and then he started wanting…things… _anyway_ , it just wasn’t working out.”

“Oh. Okay.” There was a long silence as Stan headed in the direction of Kyle’s house. It was comfortable; they had sat in silence together many times before.

“Anyway,” said Kyle, clearing his voice. “You did a great job on tech today. Thanks for being part of the show.”

“No problem.” Stan smiled. “I enjoyed it.”

Stan realized that Kyle was staring at him.

“What?”

“Do you really like it? I mean—“ Kyle scratched his arm. “It just doesn’t seem like you.”

Stan laughed once, slightly incredulous. “It doesn’t seem like you, either, really.”

“Meaning?”

“Well, like, when we were growing up you were always embarrassed by anything campy or flashy.”

“Yeah, because I was in the closet!” snapped Kyle.

“Right, well, I'm just saying that you're not embarrassed about it anymore! And neither am I!”

Kyle scoffed. “It’s different for you.”

“Not that different.” Stan blushed. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately.

“Right. So you’re telling me you’ve been secretly gay all this time?” Kyle laughed hollowly.

“No,” said Stan. “Not all this time. But…maybe. I’m not one hundred percent sure I’m straight, so.”

Stan was pulling up in front of Kyle’s house, and parked against the sidewalk. He was nervous about looking at Kyle, but did anyway. 

Kyle laughed again. “Are you bi curious?”

Stan shrugged, undoing his seatbelt, noting as he did that Kyle left his on. “I just think…” he turned toward Kyle, looking him in the eye. “I saw you as a friend, and then you stopped being my friend. And now…” he exhaled, trying to find the words. “I see you differently.”

Kyle nodded slowly. “You’re attracted to me?”

“Um. Yes.”

“So…what?” Kyle tried to sound casual, but Stan could hear the shake in his voice.

“What?”

“You want to fuck me?”

Stan felt himself turn bright red, his ears on fire. Kyle’s cheeks were flushed under the streetlights. 

After they stared at each other for several seconds, Stan raised his eyebrows at Kyle and quirked his head, half-smiling as if to say, _shall we_?

Kyle reared back, scoffing. “Wow, you seriously just thought I was offering. You think I’d jump at the chance!”

“No, no,” said Stan, shaking his head.

“You don’t get to just _have me_ the second you decide I’m cute enough. I’ve _been_ cute, fucker!” Kyle’s lip was trembling as he fumbled with his seatbelt, finally unlatching it. 

“No, Kyle, stop!” Stan reached for Kyle’s hand, grabbing it before he reached the door handle. “I don’t—I mean, I _do_ —think about that. But, like… I also want to do _this_.”

Stan let go of Kyle’s hand and moved his own up to cup his jaw. He searched Kyle’s eyes for permission and found more than that, Kyle silently begging him. Stan pressed his lips to Kyle’s slowly, his tongue teasing past Kyle’s lips and teeth. As soon as their tongues touched, Kyle seemed to come to life, wriggling out of his seat to straddle Stan.

Stan couldn’t believe how good it felt, to finally have what he never let himself want. It was similar to kissing girls, but better somehow, maybe because of Kyle’s big mouth, or his slim but hard legs spread across Stan’s, or maybe because Stan was hopelessly in love with him, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that it was better than his wildest dreams, and if just kissing had this effect on him, he didn’t know how he would survive anything else. 

Stan nipped at Kyle’s neck, waiting to bite down until he reached his collarbone, pulling his shirt low enough. Kyle had always bruised easily. He cried out at the feeling, and ran his hand across the bulge in Stan’s jeans. He had worn the red ones.

“Can I see it?” Kyle panted.

“My dick?” said Stan. 

“No, your—“ Kyle paused, and Stan smiled as he fumbled for a sarcastic response. “Yes, your fucking dick!”

“Sure, but, uh, it’s kind of big. I don’t want you to get scared.”

Kyle rolled his eyes, his grin as big as Stan had ever seen it. “I’ll try to be brave.”

Kyle rolled off of Stan, sitting back in the passenger seat as Stan unzipped his pants. His black boxer briefs were tight against his erection, and it was difficult to wrangle his dick out through the hole. He finally did, looking at Kyle afterward. 

Kyle looked almost wounded. “Oh my god,” he whispered. “It’s even more perfect than I imagined. This is the dick of the gods.” He ran a finger up Stan’s cock, making him shudder. 

“You should have assumed.” Stan smirked. “Show me yours ‘cause I showed you mine?”

Kyle laughed. “Sure. But it’s not as great.”

“I’ll be the judge.”

Kyle unzipped his pants, flipping his dick out instantly. Stan expected him to be wearing underwear, and was taken aback, but recovered quickly at the sight of Kyle’s cock, his pubes completely shorn off. 

“What are you talking about, dude? It’s big!” It wasn’t quite as big as Stan’s, but it still looked like someone could choke on it. Stan reached out and grabbed it, making Kyle moan. Stan had never held a dick that wasn’t his own, and the sensation was both familiar and foreign. 

“Come here,” he said, gesturing to his lap as he pulled his pants and boxer briefs further down, freeing his dick completely. Kyle straddled Stan again, and began stroking him. Stan licked into Kyle’s mouth as he grabbed Kyle’s cock, and they quickly found a good rhythm. Usually, when Stan got to this point with girls, he would try every tactic he knew to segue it into a blowjob, but he didn’t want to stop kissing Kyle for any reason, and Kyle’s hand on his dick was almost as efficient as his own, maybe more so because it was _Kyle_. There was no coming back from this as Stan grunted in Kyle’s ear. 

“I’m gonna come.”

Kyle exhaled, sounding choked. “Me, too.”

The both kept going, and Stan came first, spilling over Kyle’s hand as Kyle pushed Stan’s cock towards his stomach, away from their jeans. Kyle moaned when he came, his hand curling into a fist on the back of Stan’s t-shirt. Stan kissed him hard, hoping to communicate everything he didn’t know how to say. 

Kyle broke the kiss, slumping into the passenger seat. He wiped his hand on the front of his t-shirt, which was already splattered with his own come.

Stan looked down and saw that his shirt was in a similar state. He copied Kyle, wiping his hand across the front.

“Hand sanitizer?” Kyle said, pulling a tiny teal bottle out of his messenger bag. 

Stan started laughing, and Kyle joined in. By the time they stopped, Stan’s sides ached, and his eyes were leaking. “I would fucking love some hand sanitizer, dude.”

Kyle beamed at him, and squirted a pea-sized amount into Stan’s palm.


	5. Chapter 5

Stan made sure to wake up early enough on Monday to get Harbucks before school. He had tried to get Kyle to hang out with him the day before, but Kyle said he wanted to take things slow. Stan was disappointed—he wanted nothing more than to play video games with his best friend again, with a little added fondling on the side—but he understood. Kyle didn’t fully trust him yet, and Kenny’s words echoed in Stan’s head. He had to take this seriously or risk ruining it.

Hence the early trip to Harbucks. At some point during the show, Stan had overheard Kyle telling Millie that he was addicted to skim cappuccinos. Stan ordered a large one, as well as a double espresso for himself. 

Stan chugged the double espresso in the school parking lot, making a face at the bitter taste, and made his way to homeroom.

Mrs. Holland wasn’t there yet, and Kyle was standing by the door. Butters was among the other students waiting, but he was sitting on the floor reading a textbook, pointedly ignoring Kyle. 

“Hey,” said Stan.

“Hey.” Kyle smiled. 

“I, uh, got this cappuccino, but it’s the wrong kind of milk.”

“Oh, yeah?” said Kyle, still smiling. 

“Yeah. I wanted two percent, and I think they put skim. I dunno, taste it.” 

Kyle took the cup from Stan and took a sip. “Hmm. Definitely tastes like skim.”

“Well, if you like it, I think you should have it.”

“I like it,” said Kyle. His eyes crinkled, as if he saw right through Stan’s story and was charmed by it. “Thank you.”

“Any time.”

Kyle agreed to go to Stan’s house after Stan’s football practice to help him rehearse. They torrented the movie onto Stan’s laptop, going through Columbia and Magenta’s scene’s over and over. There was a scene where Columbia and Magenta sat together on a bed as they spied on Janet, tickling each other and acting suggestively. As Kyle pretended to use a blow dryer on Stan’s imaginary tit, Stan pulled him close, kissing him. “I want to be dirty!” the actors sang on the computer screen as Kyle pulled Stan’s shirt over his head. 

That afternoon, after sucking Stan’s dick, Kyle taught Stan how to give a blowjob, petting his head patiently while he tried to find the proper rhythm. Eventually, he did, shoving Kyle’s cock as far down his throat as it would go, making him shout with surprise and pleasure. Stan gagged, and eased up. 

“That was nice, but you don’t have to choke yourself,” Kyle panted. “Just—ah! Yeah, like that.”

Kyle had to be home for dinner, and Stan was sad to see him go, withholding a comment about how Kyle had already eaten. 

As soon as Kyle was out the door, Stan dialed Kenny. He wanted to tell him that he was right about Kyle’s heart, and that he wouldn’t hurt it. The phone rang for over a minute before a voice on the other end informed Stan that Kenny’s inbox was full, and the call ended. 

By Thursday, Stan and Kyle had seen each other after school every day. They didn’t speak much during school hours, and Kyle continued to sit in the front row during homeroom. This didn’t bother Stan. He was enough of a distraction as it was. 

Stan had gotten a lot of praise the night before for his performance during rehearsal, and was getting more and more excited about the show. He sort of couldn’t believe he was doing something so out of his comfort zone, but that just added to the excitement. 

He already knew the role pretty well, in his opinion, so as soon as they got to Kyle’s house under the pretenses of rehearsing Stan pushed Kyle onto the bed. Since Stan didn’t have practice, they were able to come here straight after school, and no one else was home. Gerald was working, Ike’s school got out later, and Sheila was visiting some aunt of hers in Florida. 

They took their clothes off and made out as usual, rubbing their cocks together. Stan pulled Kyle on top of him, straddling him. He loved the feeling of Kyle’s legs around him, maybe because of that first time. He was so hot, spread open around Stan. Stan ran his hand down Kyle’s spine and down his right ass cheek. Feeling bold, he traced his fingers down the crack of Kyle’s ass and down to his balls, then back up again.

Kyle pushed his ass back out of Stan’s reach and peered down at him shyly. 

“What’s wrong?” said Stan.

“Well, nothing’s wrong,” said Kyle, blushing. “It’s just—I’ve never done that, before.”

“Not with Butters?”

“No! With Butters, I was the one doing the—things.”

“Did you fuck him?” Stan asked, trying to keep his voice light, though it pierced his heart to ask.

“No.” Kyle laughed shakily. “It seemed too weird. I’m still, uh. A virgin.”

“Oh.” Stan was surprised, somehow, though he couldn’t imagine Kyle fucking Butters either. He pecked him on the lips. “I—haven’t done it a ton of times either. I know it probably seems like it, but I’ve mostly just gone to third base. I’ve only gone all the way with two girls, and it was nothing serious or ongoing.”

Kyle stared at Stan for several seconds, his face unreadable. Stan hoped he hadn’t said anything wrong. 

“I’ve always dreamed of losing my virginity to you,” Kyle said finally.

“Yeah?” said Stan, running his hands over Kyle’s ass and the back of his thighs. 

“Yeah. Would you like that?”

“I would fucking love that.” Stan pulled Kyle down so that their dicks were touching again. They kissed hard, and Kyle guided Stan’s hand back to the crack of his ass. Fingering alone seemed to break Kyle down and recreate him, so Stan figured they would have to do this a few more times before they could consummate. He didn’t mind. As Kyle cried out, his ass spasming around Stan’s fingers as he came, Stan didn’t mind one bit.

The next day, Stan was sitting at the lunch table with his football teammates when Bebe and Wendy walked over. 

“Hey, babe,” said Token, and Wendy leaned down to kiss him. 

“Are you guys gonna come see Stan in the show?” asked Bebe, twisting the top off a bottle of Diet Coke. 

Clyde’s eyes went wide, then he started laughing. “I forgot Marsh was doing that shit!” he said to Token.

“Oh, shit,” said Token. “We have to go.”

“It’s the Gender Bender show!” said Bebe. “Stan, I can’t believe you didn’t tell them you’ll be dressed up as a girl!”

Stan shrugged. He wasn’t embarrassed to have his teammates see him in drag, but the topic hadn’t really come up.

“Jesus, Stan, I always knew you were gay, but have you gone full homo now?” said Cartman, unwrapping his baked potato. 

“I’m not gay,” said Stan.

“Does your boyfriend know that?” said Cartman. “Hey, Kyle!” He turned to the next table over, where Kyle was sitting with Craig, Butters, and the others. “Stan’s not gay, allegedly.”

Kyle flipped Cartman the bird, and turned back to his sandwich, a gourmet-looking thing that Mrs. Broflovski must have made for him. Stan’s stomach sank. He hoped that Kyle’s feelings weren’t hurt, and wasn’t even sure why he’d said that, except that he was feeling defensive.

After school, Stan had to practice alone, since Kyle was going to Fillmore’s bar mitzvah. Stan’s parents were out of town, visiting Shelly in college. Without any distractions, especially of the sexual variety, Stan was able to get his lines and choreography almost exactly right, and was proud of himself. 

Afterward, he tried to call Kenny, but got the same result, the ‘good-bye’ at the end of the robotic message feeling like a slap in the face. Stan texted him, asking him to call as soon as he could.

Stan was lonely without Kyle. It was just his luck that Kyle was unable to come over when Stan had the whole house to himself, but maybe he’d be able to spend the night after their show. Stan sent him a quick text, checking up on him.

An old Terrance and Philip movie made the house seem less lonely, and by the time he fell asleep, he still hadn’t heard from Kyle.

Stan woke to his phone vibrating in one short burst. Hoping it was a text from either Kyle or Kenny, Stan grabbed his phone. It was Kyle.

‘Good morning!’ the message read. ‘Sorry I didn’t text last night, my phone died.’

Stan texted back. ‘All good. What time should I pick you up?’ He rested his eyes for several minutes before Kyle’s reply woke him back up.

‘Gotta run some errands with my dad so I’ll just have him drop me off. See you at Winston’s?’

Stan was disappointed, but he texted back, ‘See you there :)’

Stan arrived at Winston’s at four for a final rehearsal and makeup. Kyle was already there, sitting on the couch and drinking something dark.

“Whatcha got there?” asked Stan, sitting down next to him. 

“Gin and Dr. Pepper,” said Kyle. “They don’t have any more tonic.”

“Ah. How was the bar mitzvah?”

“It was fine. You know how those things are.”

Stan nodded, though he didn’t. The only bar mitzvah he had been to was Kyle’s, and that had been one of the most fun parties he'd ever attended. He wondered if Kyle was mad at him, but he didn’t seem mad, necessarily. Just preoccupied. 

They begin the rehearsal by playing the film from the beginning, pausing when notes needed to be given, fast forwarding when Winston was confident they knew it. Afterward, everyone changed into their costumes. Stan easily fit into the shorts that Red had worn, but the top needed to be altered, an extra piece of fabric glued on in the back to account for Stan’s broader frame. 

Red was wearing a short brown wig and glasses for her role as Brad. She squealed when Stan put on the short red wig that she didn’t need, having bright red hair naturally. 

“You look so good! Let me help you with your makeup.” Red picked up a tin of white cream makeup and a small sponge.

“I’ll do that,” said Kyle, snatching the makeup out of Red’s hands. His own makeup wasn’t done yet, but he was wearing the French maid costume, his hair teased so that it was almost spherical. Stan figured it hadn’t taken much work.

“Fine!” said Red, throwing up her hands in surrender. “Just—let me know if you need my help.” She stomped away.

Stan smiled at Kyle. “Thank you.” 

“Of course,” said Kyle, smiling back meekly. “Close your eyes.”

Kyle barely spoke to Stan as he did his makeup, and Stan didn’t dare speak to him as he did his own. Something was definitely wrong, but Stan couldn’t figure out what.

“We have to get going soon, you guys,” said Winston, checking the time on his phone. He was wearing one of the red and black Trixie costumes and a long black wig.

“Ready to go?” Stan asked Kyle. He looked ready, with his lips painted red and fake eyelashes expertly applied. He looked beautiful, even. Kyle nodded, and Stan led the way out the door. 

They got into Stan’s Civic, and Stan started the car, putting his hand on the gearshift.

“Wait,” said Kyle as Stan was about to put the car in drive.

“What’s up?”

Kyle took a deep breath. “Um. Why did you say you weren’t gay, earlier?”

Stan’s brow furrowed. “Huh? When?”

“At lunch yesterday.”

Stan raised his eyebrows in recognition. He had all but forgotten about that. “I don’t know. I didn’t mean to say it, it just happened.”

Kyle was silent for a long time, and Stan waited patiently.

“Am I your boyfriend?” Kyle asked finally, sounding close to tears.

Stan reached out and tugged on one of Kyle’s curls. “Yes. I’m sorry I haven’t asked you yet, but yes. If you want to be. That’s how I think of you.”

“So you’re going to hold my hand at school and take me to the junior prom?” 

“I—” Stan hesitated. This was not the way he pictured the whole ‘boyfriend’ talk to go. He wasn’t sure he wanted that kind of stuff with anyone.

Before he could voice any of this, Kyle started crying. “Fucking great,” he said through his tears. “I almost gave up my virginity to a guy who would just use me for sex.”

“I wouldn’t just—Kyle, seriously.” Stan was exhausted. It was so typical for Kyle to do something like this right before Stan’s first show, when he was already on edge. It had been like that when they were friends and would only get worse now that they were dating. “Please stop crying, you’ll ruin your makeup.”

Kyle gasped. “Fuck you!” he screamed, and opened to door to Stan’s car, running outside. 

Craig and Bebe were getting into Craig’s Corvette, and Kyle ran up to them, saying something to Craig. Stan started getting out of the car. Before he had the door closed behind him, Craig was pealing away, Kyle in tow. 

Stan quickly got back into his car and sped after them. Craig drove like a bat out of hell, however, and Stan lost track of them. By the time he reached South Park’s only freeway, he was crying, his vision blurring with tears. He reached up to wipe his eye with the side of his hand, shouting with disgust when he felt a painful tug on his eyelid. He realized, too late, that he had just smeared Kyle’s handiwork, the eyelashes he’d glued on knocked askew.

“Fuck!” Stan screamed at the top of his lungs, punching the dashboard. Fuck Kyle, fuck the show, fuck everything. Suddenly, Stan realized he was getting too close to the railing on the freeway, and slammed on his brakes. The front tires locked up as the back ones continued to move, and the Civic spun out of control, whipping around at least three times. Stan tried to straighten out, but he couldn’t tell which way was what, and his last thought before his car hit the railing was that he didn’t have any airbags. Stan’s face smacked against the steering wheel, and then everything went black.


	6. Chapter 6

Stan opened his eyes slowly, the florescent light humming dully in the corner of the ceiling feeling like an assault. His head was killing him, and more uniquely, so was his face. As he recognized the room as belonging to Hell’s Pass, he remembered what happened, and felt surprised, then lucky. He vaguely remembered an ambulance ride, with the bright lights and the strangers, but they gave him something—a needle in his arm—and he passed out again. There was a needle in his arm now, connecting him to a saline bag that dangled from a metal pole.

He figured he should check himself out before counting himself lucky, but he seemed to be able to move all his extremities. His face hurt the worst, and when he tried to actually look at his body, he couldn’t really move his head. He realized he had a neck brace on. 

Luckily, there was a pager Velcroed to the railing near his hand, and he pressed the button. 

After about a minute, a young nurse pushed open the door of the room. “Stanley?” she said, smiling.

“Yeah,” said Stan, hating how weak his voice sounded. “What—where are my parents?”

“Your parents were notified when you were admitted, about five hours ago,” she said, checking her watch. “They had to drive from Phoenix, so they should have about seven hours left to go.”

“I’ve been here for five hours?”

“Yes, Stanley.” The nurse remained smiling, but her eyes were sympathetic and concerned. “My name is June; I’ll be your nurse for the next four hours. You were in a car accident. Do you remember?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“That’s good! That’s a very good sign, actually.” She made a note on a clipboard that was fastened to the wall. “You have a concussion. Along with a sprained neck and a broken nose. You might have noticed the brace.”

“And the pain,” said Stan, smiling weakly. 

June smiled back. “I’ll get you some more morphine for that. In the meantime, you have a lot of visitors.”

Stan blinked. “I do?” 

“Yes. It’s almost midnight, so visiting hours are closed, but, uh. There’s this boy out thee who’s been pretty hysterical for the past five hours, and I’m not sure if I’ll be able to keep him out if knows you’re awake.” She winked.

“Oh. Does he have curly red hair and a—sort of weird outfit?”

June smiled. “Well, they’re all dressed pretty fancy, but yeah. The redhead.”

“He can come in, but just him, please.”

June left, and after what seemed like too long she returned with a few vials of morphine, and Kyle. Kyle ran through the doors and sat on Stan’s bed, scooping Stan’s hands into his own. He was still in his maid costume, his makeup streaked and smeared all over his face. 

“You’re okay,” he hiccuped. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” Stan whispered. “In pain, but okay.”

“This will help with the pain,” said June, screwing one of the vials onto a plastic thing hanging from his IV. “Please buzz me if you need anything else.” She smiled before leaving the room, closing the door behind her.

“I heard it,” said Kyle, his voice shaking. “I heard the crash.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.” Kyle began crying afresh, wiping at his cheeks, which had already been rubbed almost bare. “I didn’t know what it was, exactly, so I called you, but you didn’t answer. I made Craig go back to check, and there were—” Kyle swallowed. “There were police but no ambulances. I thought that meant you were dead, and I—I fucking freaked out, dude. But then the ambulance came and they said they thought you were going to be okay, miraculously. They wouldn’t let me ride with you.”

“I’m sorry,” said Stan softly.

Kyle laughed, sounding choked. “It’s okay. Everything is okay, I’m just so fucking glad you’re alive.”

“That nurse said I have a lot of visitors.”

“You do! They canceled the show. The whole cast is out there. So’s Token, Clyde, and Wendy. It’s turned into a little party, sort of. I mean”— Kyle turned red—“only after everyone knew you weren’t dying! I was the only one who continued freaking out, after that.” He smiled, and then his eyes filled with tears, and his face dropped. 

“One of the worst things about it, for me,” he continued, sounding so broken up that Stan reached his arm that wasn’t connected to the IV out to stroke his side, “was thinking that my last words to you would be ‘fuck you.’ I thought you might die thinking I hated you. I’d never be able to live with myself.” Kyle reached down and grabbed Stan’s hand, bringing it to his faded red lips, his tears falling on Stan’s knuckles. 

“Dude,” said Stan, his own eyes growing wet. “I’ll hold your hand in the hallway. I’ll take you to junior prom. I’ll even wear the dress and corsage if that’s what it takes to convince you.”

Kyle smiled, crying in earnest, Stan’s knuckles still pressed to his lips. “Convince me what, dude?”

“That I’m in love with you.”

Seven hours later, Stan’s parents walked through the doors of his hospital room, shocked to see Stan sitting up and smiling. Almost as shocking were the nearly twenty people crowded in the small room, most of them dressed in something outrageous, all looking quite happy to be there. 

“Stan?” said Sharon, glancing around. “Honey, are you okay? We’re so worried.”

“I’m okay, Mom,” said Stan. “But I’m really glad you guys are here.” 

“Coffee?” Tweek muttered, gesturing to a cardboard box with a spigot that was sitting next to a stack of paper coffee cups. 

“Oh, um—yes, actually, thank you,” said Sharon. 

“I also brought donuts!” said Wendy cheerfully. 

“Oh hell yeah,” said Randy.

“Hey guys,” said Stan weakly. “I think I’m going to talk to my parents for a bit. You should all go get some sleep.”

There were faint sounds of disappointment and agreement, and everyone gathered their things. Kyle started rising from his perch on Stan’s bed, and Stan reached out his hand, holding Kyle in place by the shoulder.

“Not you. Not yet, please.”

Kyle grinned and sat back down. 

Everyone said their goodbyes to Stan.

“I’m really glad you’re okay, man,” said Token, reaching down to hug him. “Who would have thought your near-death would be the best party of the year?”

“Cartman is going to be so pissed he wasn’t ‘invited,’” said Wendy, leaning down to hug Stan herself.

“Serves him right.” Stan smiled.

As soon as everyone else was gone, Sharon began fussing over Stan, smoothing his hair off his face as tears pooled in her eyes. “My baby,” she kept repeating. 

“I’m fine, Mom. I’m really fine.” Stan felt like he said it a hundred times. 

“Stan,” Randy sighed. “Your mom and I were talking on the drive over, and, well… we don’t think you can play football anymore this season with a broken nose and concussion.” He made a face, as if he was delivering a death knell and resented it. “Even if they let you, we don’t want you to.”

Stan sighed. “I know. I already decided. But it’s okay,” he said, taking Kyle’s hand, the morphine coursing through him making everything seem uncomplicated. “I can use the extra time for dates with my boyfriend.” He squeezed Kyle’s hand.

Randy blinked a few times, his mouth slightly ajar. 

“Congratulations, boys!” Sharon practically squealed. “Oh, that is just precious.”

“Do you—think it’s weird?” said Kyle, his voice sounding minuscule. 

Sharon laughed. “Oh, no, sweetie. I noticed weeks ago that Stan was very fixated on you. More so than when you were kids, even. I figured something like this would happen.”

“I’ll be needing a prom dress, Mother,” said Stan, and Sharon laughed. 

Kyle looked down and gasped. “Oh my god, I can’t believe your parents are seeing me in this outfit.” He covered his face with his free hand. 

“Oh, don’t be embarrassed!” said Sharon. “It’s the Rocky Horror Picture Show, right?”

“Yeah,” said Kyle, peeking out from behind his hand. 

“That’s a great movie! Believe it or not, Randy and I used to go to the midnight shows back when we were your age.”

“Huh, yeah,” said Randy, chuckling. “Those shows were…” He trailed off, looking from Stan to Kyle. Stan had no clue what he looked like right now. June had given him a wet wipe for his face, but he had mostly used it around his eyes and lips, the rest still painted with pale makeup. “Fun!” Randy said finally. 

After a little while, Stan’s parents went down to the cafeteria to bring them some real meals while Kyle stayed with Stan. A few minutes after they left, the door opened again, and Stan craned his head as best as he could, wondering what they forgot.

Instead of his parents, Stan saw a tall boy with a golden halo of hair and an orange hoodie walking toward him.

“Kenny!” Kyle cheered. 

Kenny looked fresh as a daisy, his skin clean and bright, nothing like the junkie nightmare Stan had been picturing.

“Kenny, oh my god,” he said. “I’m so glad your here.” 

“Wouldn’t miss it, My Little Brony.” He hugged Stan tight. 

“How long have you been in town? We thought you were in Seattle!” said Kyle. 

“Since this morning.” Kenny scratched his collarbone. “Randomly decided to visit home.”

“Well fuck, that’s a happy coincidence. How’s Washington?” asked Stan.

Kenny smiled hollowly, the light not quite reaching his eyes. “I think I’ll stay in South Park from now on.”

With difficulty, Stan sat up to embrace Kenny, and Kyle embraced him from the other side, forming a cocoon. 

“Welcome home, buddy,” said Stan.

“Welcome home,” repeated Kyle. They stayed wrapped around him like that for a long time, knowing that with their best efforts he could become a butterfly.

Later, after Stan’s parents had gone home to get some rest, Kyle was the only one left in the hospital room with Stan. He had gotten comfortable next to Stan in the bed, and dozed when Stan did. 

At one point when they were both awake, Kyle turned to Stan, searching his face. 

“I’ve learned something today,” he said.

“What’s that?” said Stan.

“I…” Kyle trailed off, his hand on Stan’s chest, balling Stan’s hospital gown into his fist. “I don’t know how to say it.”

Stan pulled Kyle’s ear to his mouth. “When I get out of the hospital,” he whispered, “you’re going to learn something else.”

Kyle gasped, his cheeks going red, and kissed Stan, giggling. “Can’t wait.”

Stan laughed and kissed back, the tension leaving his body. He couldn’t believe he had almost missed this. Not South Park, not society, not even the Grim fucking Reaper could drag him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End! This is my first completed multi-chapter fic, so if you've made it this far, please feel free to let me know what you think!! Thanks so much for reading :) <3


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